


Everybody Always Asks "What Is Cojum Dip?" But Nobody Ever Asks "Who Is Cojum Dip?"

by Loolin



Category: Doctor Who, Tally Hall (Band)
Genre: Gen, Original Time Lord Character(s) - Freeform, Post-Regeneration (Doctor Who), i'm pretty sure this sotry includes the word "hell" enough times to warrant a T, technically?? kinda?? i honestly don't care about the specifics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-16 23:33:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29340624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loolin/pseuds/Loolin
Summary: well, if you ever wanted to see the members of tally hall going on Adventures In Space And Time, here it is.i guess a more detailed description would be: taking the tally hall lads & making them into companions, time lords, or both, then setting them loose on worlds of my own creation. just for fun. may or may not include some strain of angst. still mostly for fun though.chapter 1 features: regeneration shenaniganschapter 2 features: the sad & lonely life of a cuckoo clock maker
Comments: 10
Kudos: 7





	1. Zubin's Story

So there’s some sort of weird noise coming from Zubin Shelley’s back yard. Though, perhaps “coming” would be the wrong word to use, as it’s rather more a case of a weird noise occurring once, very loudly, and then relative silence. It could be said the silence itself is weird in comparison to the weird noise, given how affrontingly loud it was when it occurred in the first place. Almost like an explosion or something. Actually, considering that fact, perhaps Zubin has a definitively urgent reason to check out whatever the hell’s going down out there.

So there’s a guy, facedown in the dirt, apparently asleep. And there’s a van, smoldering (which isn’t a thing Zubin thought vans could do), also lying down in the dirt of Zubin’s back lawn. Both of those seem like problems that need to be dealt with somehow. Well, while people sure aren’t his strong suit, vans stuck in the ground are even less so, so Zubin walks up to the guy to see whether he’s dead, dying, asleep, in need of medical attention, or what. “Hey,” he says, crouching down, “are you-”

Alright, so this is definitely a case of what. The guy on the ground jumps up with surprising agility then immediately stumbles about with unsurprising instability, looking for all the world like a madman; with a clear inability to focus on anything or stand still or speak or-

“Hello! Hello hello hello there!” Well, knock speaking off that list, it’s something they know how to do & want to do quite well it seems. Boy, is there a single expectation this guy’s going to live up to today?

"Hi,” says Zubin, standing up to match the stranger’s new wobbly stance, “my name’s Zubin, and I’d like to know-”

“My name? Yes, yeah, I’m quite sure you do, but the problem is I don’t know it right now, freshly regenerated and all I do believe, so if you could perhaps call me-” and at this the man mutters under their breath for far too short a period of time for Zubin to catch up with whatever the hell they’re saying. “Bora! Bo-ra King-dom, that’s my name and my last name, all at once, or close enough facsimiles of my name, that will do until I remember what it actually is,” finishes the man with a smile that perfectly fits the utter nonsense coming out of their mouth.

Zubin takes this in stride, somehow. “Cool. Hi Bora. Would you happen to know anything about the, uh,” it gestures vaguely behind Bora and towards the no-longer-smoldering heap, “van stuck in the ground there behind you? I’d kinda like it if you could get that out of my yard”

Bora spins around and one would get the impression they’re elated to see the van in the dirt if not for the way they fall back down into said dirt. “God, man, are you okay? Do you need to lie down?” asks Zubin, figuring someone’s gotta make sure this weirdo (affectionate) doesn’t get themself killed or, at least, sleep in the dirt all day.

In response, Bora tries and fails to prop themself up enough to say anything legible, prompting Zubin to squat down next to them again with a sigh. This, in turn, prompts Bora to thrust out an arm around Zubin’s shoulders, leveraging their face to be inches away from the other’s in order to say, with maximum effect, “Yeah, how did you know I wanted to lie down? Could it be the way I’m already lying down? But no, you can also tell, I’d rather be lying down on a bed, something you surely have, something I also surely have, but I bet my bed’s easier to get to than yours, so if you could get me over there real quick that’d be great, because I’d like nothing more than to sleep the rest of this regeneration off right now.” And with that ever-so-important & dearly incomprehensible message relayed, Bora falls back into peaceful sleep right there in Zubin’s face- for a split second, that is, before their arms go slack and they fall to the ground once more, with barely enough time given for Zubin to reflexively catch them.

“What the hell?” asks Zubin, only somewhat rhetorically. “Dude, c’mon man, you can’t just pass out on me like that,” he protests, this time directing his remarks more clearly to Bora themself.

Miraculously, they wake up. “Ah! Wait- I’m not on a bed. I thought you were getting me to a bed? Have I been asleep for 10 minutes?”

“N-no, try 2 seconds max.”

“Well gosh darn it, I felt like I’d been asleep for 5 minutes.”

“Why would you think you slept for 10 minutes if it felt like 5 minutes?”

“Because I can’t trust how fast it feels like time is going and I’m an optimist.”

Zubin sighs, a teensy bit dramatically, and says “Okay, at this point I can tell you do need to take a nap, but before we get you into- a bed, let’s say a bed, I really want to know if that’s your van over there.”

Weirdly enough, Bora doesn’t even try to turn around & look at it again. With unexpected sobriety, they respond, “Yeah, that’s mine alright, and if you could get me into her I’d actually appreciate it quite a bit because I’ll bet real money her beds are better than anything in the next millennium. No offense, of course.”

“...none taken.” Now Bora’s up and getting themself ungainfully towards the van which, on closer (read: any) inspection, isn’t really smoldering and is more just sitting on the ground at an abnormal angle, and therefore perhaps more feasibly a place where one could at least, well, be inside of, for starters. Zubin, not being a douche, picks them back up to help them into the van, since they seem so insistent on it.

o0o

Zubin doesn’t know what it was expecting, as usual. Granted, he’s never run into a situation that really blows his nonexistent expectations out of the water like this, but even if his expectations had remained perfectly submerged and undisturbed he still couldn’t identify what they were. None of that matters, of course, as most things don’t do when one is inside a van that’s both larger than a van & looks nothing like a van interior on the inside. Also, Bora’s asleep on a couch, and has been for at least 5 minutes & 44 seconds, as that was the timer that somehow started as soon as their head hit the pillow said last time Zubin checked. Zubin’s been spending said 5 minutes & 44 seconds + wrapping his head around the weird geometry and decoration of what’s apparently the front of some larger building (or is it a vehicle? it looked like a van on the outside but that’s no indicator that it can actually travel), as indicated by the hallways poking out at a couple angles in the back.

It’s about to sit down on one of the other chairs just to take a rest & figure out what to do in/with this place when suddenly, somehow, the voice of another complete stranger of a person comes in through the front door. Zubin quickly makes his way to the entrance to check who it is and is met with a (somewhat) living producer of deja vu. His appearance is oddly disheveled, similar to Bora’s but without the dirt, and in another move to mirror Bora’s behavior, he seems barely able to stand up straight. Coming to the only apparent conclusion that this man arrived in his back yard the very same way Bora did, Zubin thinks over whether bringing him inside Bora’s place could be helpful at all, only to be interrupted by some more shouting, this time coming from a distance where he can make out the words.

“Conductor! Conductor? I know you’re around here somewhere, man, I need-” hir speech is slurred, and _almost_ more incoherent than Bora’s. She cuts herself off when her gaze lands on Zubin, standing in the doorway of Bora’s weird place. “Oh, cool!” they start, then stumble a bit closer to Zubin, continuing, with a new shade of annoyance in their voice, “oh, _great_ , you regenerated too? What a mess we’ll be for the next few hou-”

This time it’s actually cut off by its legs giving way underneath it, knocking a strangled cough out of it in the process. Zubin, who had been heavily considering going over to Bora and waking them up on the basis of there being this stranger in the doorway of their van-place, makes a split-second decision to instead focus on helping the new guy for now before putting any other problems to rest. Rushing over to where they rest on the ground, Zubin asks, “Uh, are you okay? What’s your name?”

The stranger seems mildly baffled, past the discomfort. “You forgot my name? Fine, sure, it’s- oh.” she frowns. “Guess I’m not one to judge after all. I don’t remember mine either. Eh, it’ll come back eventually- probably after I take a good nap, which-” he’s cut off again by some more coughs and starts trying to pull himself to a standing position with Zubin’s help. “Yeah, that’s why I’m here, the cube’s too busted up for me to sleep off the regeneration in there, so if...”

Once again, the stranger doesn’t finish his sentence, but this time without a reason clear to Zubin. Slightly (greatly) confused now, it tries taking a small step back from the man in his arms to get a better look at them only to see a both similarly puzzled and heavily disdainful expression on the other’s face. “...Can I help you?” says Zubin after a pause, utterly lost in this conversation in a manner rather identical to its placement in what’s generally happening around him.

“...You’re not the conductor. You’re human. What are you doing in their ship?”

“E-excuse me?”  
A muffled voice comes from out of nowhere and the corner, saying, “Hey Zubin! _Why_ are you being so lou- oh.” It’s Bora, awake now and propping their head over the edge of the couch to get a better look at the ruckus going on at the front of their “ship”. 

An almost identically confused look on both theirs & the stranger’s faces, simultaneously, they cry, “Who are you?”

Still speaking in tandem, the two respond, “Great question! I don’t know!” Briefly Bora deviates to clarify, “But this is my friend Zubin! It’s helping me out a bit with the regeneration.”

The stranger responds, “Oh really? He’s kinda doing the same for me- hang on a second!”

Just as uncannily as the first 2 times, they speak in sync;

“Soloist?” Asks Bora.

“Conductor?” Inquires the stranger.

“So you did regenerate too- oh hey, that’s who I am!” The two conclude, once more mirroring each other’s words exactly.

Zubin is thoroughly offput and overwhelmed by their shenanigans, and, with a sigh, drags this “soloist” over to another couch. “Alright you two, I don’t get why you both seem on the verge of death, or how you know each other, or what most of this stuff going on is, but if like, both of you could sleep until you’re lucid I’d greatly appreciate that purely so that you can explain just about everything, all at once, together, once you’re better. Got that?” he says, exasperated but without much fondness.

Bora easily relaxes back into their couch for a long short moment, before jolting back up with a complete lack of grace and saying, “Hang on a minute, shouldn’t we go into the zero room? I’m pretty sure it’s still in here somewhere.”

Zubin sighs again, and turns to face Bora more-or-less head on. “Dude, he’s already asleep. ”

Inexplicably, Bora glares slightly before laying back down again. “I should do the same, then. I absolutely refuse to let hym finish regenerating first.” With these final cryptic words said, they nod off just as easily as ever, leaving Zubin standing alone, with two thoroughly inscrutable men fast asleep around him, feeling just about as ridiculous and out-of-place in this strange place as the room itself feels in the very building.

o0o

“How big is this place?” doesn’t seem like a question Zubin’s going to get answered any time soon. There was no point in sitting around in the main room while the other two rested, so he’s taking a small trip down the hallways to get a better grasp on what kind of stuff there is to be found in here. So far the stuff has included but not been limited to: a large, grassy, sunlit hill home to swarms of ethereal butterflies; a swimming pool; 2-3 libraries, each extremely different in design; a room containing as literal a definition of “nothing” as possible; a large model train set contained within a room that’d be called a basement if the normal rules of organizing a building’s floors could apply here; a martial arts dojo; a flower garden with no recognizable flowers; a separate herb garden with equally unrecognizable herbs (though that might just be thanks to a lack of herb knowledge on Zubin’s part); a stadium fully set up for track & field; over half a dozen music-related rooms (a sound studio, orchestra pit, karaoke venue, a stage elaborately decked out for what looked like a performance of Norma (the opera), and some that were unidentifiable other than their vague relation to making music in a way) and counting; an elevator; and a kitchen.

However, even with all that out of the way, the last thing Zubin was expecting (or, to be more precise, _wanting_ ) to see in this strange place was another person. The guy’s sitting on a bench in this winding hallway of framed paintings that are secretly sheet music if you look closely enough, and while xir expression is pointedly hard to read, Zubin gets the impression it wasn’t exactly expecting to meet another person either. “Hey,” says Zubin, for lack of a better way to start this inevitable conversation.

“Hey,” responds the other guy, surprising Zubin by putting more energy than him into it. “My name’s, uh, Joe Harkness. How about you?”

“Zubin.” It sits down next to Joe. “Shelley, Zubin Shelley” he adds after that pause, and continues with a quiet laugh, “You know, you’re the third stranger I’ve met today, but the first to not only give me faer name but also ask for mine in return.”

“Nice. Do I get a prize?”

The look of utter sincerity on Joe’s face nudges a stronger laugh out of Zubin. “No, and in fact, you get punished, because now I want to ask you even more questions that I didn’t get a chance to ask the other guys.”

“Ah, crafty, I like it- but be careful, because you ask me more than 5 questions at once and you might find I’ve vanished before your eyes.” is Joe’s phantasm of a response. “Also, I don’t think I’ll be answering anything Bora or- their friend, could answer” ey continue, thankfully bestowing a bit of clarity to eir labyrinthine lexicon.

“Alright. Fine. How about, how do you know Bora’s name, and why won’t you say the other guy’s name.”

“The other guy can tell you eir name emself, and I know the name of anyone on this ship.”

“Well, if that includes me, why did you ask for my name?”  
“I was just being polite, as any good mouse or man should do.”

“Ah, yeah, I can appreciate that. Hm... do you know how big this, uh, building, this place, is? And why did you and that other guy call this place a ship?”

“Eh, for the first one I’ll say it’s complicated, and that both I do and don’t know. Actually, a better answer is that nobody really knows and you definitely won’t get that question dealt with conclusively any time soon. The second one I’ll leave for Bora to answer, as it’s their ship.”

“Rrright.” At this Zubin takes something of a long pause, which it spends gently inspecting the hallway and taking in its companion, who appears as unbothered by the lull in the conversation as they have been by everything else in the span of time Zubin’s known them. Zubin speaks up once more, “Alright, here’s my final question. Where can I find you again?”

Joe looks gently impressed by the inquiry. “Oh, that’s a real puzzler. I wouldn’t call myself a sedant, but you can always find me anywhere in this ship. Perchance, it’s possible to perceive me pickling my brain away in our provincial paperback supercomputer. I think I’ll let you know if I come across anything worthy of betting on.”

Zubin, thoroughly cheered by this queer little conversation, readies himself and gets up from the bench. “I should probably start making my way back to the entrance now. To check on Bora and the other guy, or something” he says, absently rocking back and forth on his heels.

Joe gives a gentle nod, but doesn’t stand up or respond at all. Zubin, not moving, breaks the awkwardly growing silence. “Could you, uh, I mean, would you like to come with me? You seem like you could help me not get lost, and it’s a long way back there” Even as his request falls clearly flat, Joe stands up without facing Zubin and gives what will clearly be a final pronouncement.

“This has been a good conversation, and I did mean what I said about finding me again, but no matter what, I have to ask of you,” out of nowhere ze grabs Zubin’s hand and stares directly into its eyes, “do not let Bora or C- the other guy know I’m here. Don’t bring up speaking to anyone whatsoever. If they know I’m in here, then you’ll never see me again. Got that?”

Zubin takes a step back and Joe releases its hands. “Y- yeah, I got it,” he replies, almost hesitantly. Once again, with confusion on his back and questions in his shoe, he sets off down the halls with nary a goal in mind.

“If it’s any consolation, I know your journey back to the console room will be safe for your soul,” calls Joe just as Zubin is rounding a corner.

“Thanks!” is the best response Zubin can provide as it vanishes out of sight, all the while continuing to wonder what the hell is going on.

o0o

So far, Joe’s looking to be right about one thing, at least. Zubin has gotten back to that first room in record time, and certainly less time than it took him to get away in the first place. He hesitates to enter, though, hovering outside this nondescript door, a door he knows leads to his destination for how he can oh-so clearly hear the voices of Bora and their friend coming through it. They’re having an argument, and while normally Zubin wouldn’t particularly care at this point, he’s heard his own name come up at least once, and the whole topic of conversation is just so weird he can’t help but try to figure it out.

“Honestly, the way you speak about this Zubin,” says the voice Zubin doesn’t have a name for, “it makes me think you’ve started believing in that whole ‘first face’ schtick. Like, Rassilon, take him on a thank you trip, shower him with riches, whatever it is you do for the humans you pick up, but I won’t- I’m not about to start going by a completely different name just because you picked up some new alias that you’re now really attached to.”

“I’m not asking that much of you, dude!” Now there’s Bora’s voice. “I’m not ‘confused’, I’m certainly not ‘taking a new name’, but it’s just not every day I run into a human immediately post-regeneration who effectively saves my life and has the decency to not ask a single question the entire time. You complain enough about them, do you not recognize how getting through _any_ kind of situation involving one without having to answer the same questions is kind of a big deal?”

“Sure! Sure it is, I won’t deny that, but no matter how helpful and exceptional Zubin is, I have no reason to-”

“Did it or did it not get you into my T&LDIS in the first place.”

He scoffs. “I barely remember that, you barely remember that; don’t play around.”

“But you _can’t_ deny it’s responsible for your safe recovery as much as mine. You can’t pretend you don’t owe Zubin at least something.”

“Conductor-”

“That’s Bora!” They almost shout this line, making Zubin jump slightly.

“ _Bora_ then- I have never owed a human anything in my entire life.” The other guy also sounds like she’s getting heated- it’s almost worrying Zubin at this point.

“It’s a nickname, for Rassilon’s sake, it’s just a nickname. You don’t have to go by it when you’re on Gallifrey, or any other planets when you’re not around us, but-”

“Us? _Us?_ Oh, I knew it, I knew you were only making this big a deal about names because you planned on making him a companion.”

“That’s- that’s not what this is about!”

“Right, do either of you mind me asking what this is about?” asks Zubin, walking into the room. Bora and the other man are standing on either side of the odd circular trunk with the funky pillar in the middle that sits in the center of the room. A clear current of tension is running through them both, but Bora at least brightens up considerably upon seeing Zubin enter the room.

“Zubin! Good to see you buddy, care to tell me what all you saw in there?” Bora asks, smiling like they’re putting every ounce of effort in their body into ignoring everything in the world that isn’t their buddy walking towards them. Their friend, in great contrast, continues looking annoyed at them both.

“No- well, yes, but,” it stops, having made its way up to the platform where the other men stand. “My story can wait until later. Now that you two are good and conscious, I want some sort of explanation for basically everything that’s happened in the past,” he waves his hand around vaguely, “however many hours it’s been since I stepped into my back yard and saw you lying in my dirt.”

Bora’s friend shoots him a very clear look of told-you-so, which they ignore with pride. A softly less ecstatic look on their face, Bora lets out a small sigh and absently runs a hand through their hair, clearly pondering an answer. “Oh, I’ve never been good at doing these myself; why don’t you just ask me a bunch of questions at once, and then I can try & knock them all down as simply as possible.”

“Fine with me,” is Zubin’s reply, and he’s about to continue with the long list of questions he’s had time to develop if not for the way Bora’s friend starts off for the exit door in a huff.

Noticing Zubin’s pause, xe speaks up. “Oh, don’t mind me, I simply refuse to sit here and listen to th- tsk. _Bora_ answer the same exact questions they always do from every human ever. And I’m not giving them a chance to convince me to play this silly little name game, either.”

Zubin faces vir, no small amount of irritation present in his posture as well. “Since you’re clearly no longer in mortal danger or whatever, go ahead and take your leave. I just refuse to let you go without hearing your name, at least. You can’t tell me that’s too much to ask.”

In an impressive display of exasperation, Bora’s friend lets out the biggest sigh of the day so far, running hir hand down hir face and everything. Frustration lacing every word, they say, “My name is the Soloist. And I know!” it thrusts out a hand to stop Zubin’s oncoming remarks, “I know you _humans_ think that’s not a real name, and I don’t care. That’s my name, no matter what the- _Bora_ tries to tell you otherwise. They do not get to tell you what my name is,” they finish emphatically. Practically daring either Bora or Zubin to call after him with every step, he finishes his dramatic exit stage left in a manner that, unfortunately for him, one of the people in the room he exited from knows can’t contain a hint of finality.

All that out of the way, apparently, Zubin turns back to Bora, inscrutably expectant. Bora’s smile has grown even more strained in the interim, believe it or not, and upon seeing them not make any moves to clarify the preceding interaction, Zubin gives its questioning another shot. “...Alright, that makes things easier for me. Why did th- The Soloist talk as if it and you aren’t human? Also, what the actual hell is this whole building too? And could you please explain what this ‘regeneration’ thing I’ve been hearing about is.”

To Zubin’s surprise, Bora doesn’t look like they want to jump out of a window upon being faced with this miniature inquisition. “You know, I’m not sure why I didn’t realize I can answer most of those questions at once by just explaining a single concept, really,” they explain, a thoughtful look on their face. “You might want to sit down for this.”

“Because it’s a long explanation or because it’s a revelation that’ll change my life forever?”

“Yep!” Bora drops into a chair.

“Cool.” Zubin follows suit.

“The Soloist and I are Time Lords, from a planet called Gallifrey way off in a system you really don’t need to know the name of, just that it’s pretty dang far from here. Yes, that does make us actual aliens by your standards, and on that note, yes, ‘Soloist’ is something of a, well, manageable, if maybe not normal name for our society. We travel about in time as well as space- that’s where, well, that’s because of the ‘Time’ part of our title -in these ships called T&LDISes, which stands for Time And Lyrical Dimensions In Space for a reason you can find out if you ever,” they suddenly are looking almost embarrassed for the first time since Zubin’s known them, “travel in one. Oh, and,” the shame’s been completely covered back up now, “‘regeneration’ is what happens to a Time Lord’s body if we take a mortal wound or come close enough, and instead of actually dying we just change the complete cellular makeup of our body entirely. Not our minds though! Er, mostly. Is that everything?”

Zubin takes his time answering, as one generally would when presented with such a rich & ridiculous quantity & quality of new information. “...I can assume the whole, bigger on the inside deal is par for the course for an, uh, T&LDIS?”

“Yep! Classic bit of Gallifreyan technology, dimensional transcendentalism.”

“Then I guess the only question I have left is,” Zubin takes a deep breath, almost trepid, “how come the Soloist has the name of a title while you have... taken the name of a normal human?”

Bora, yet again, looks uncomfortable with the question, though now in a manner that suggests this discomfort stems from a lack of experience with such an inquiry, rather than a more dreadful feeling. “I... only told you my name was Bora because I had genuinely forgotten my, er, other name. The Conductor- that’s what I’m known as to other Time Lords, and, I guess, to the places I’ve visited across the universe, until now. The memory loss is just an expectable side effect of the regeneration, by the way. The Soloist, I think, was dealing with a similar issue, they just didn’t think they needed to come up with a name to give you like I did. Before you came in I was trying to get em to try out a human’s name like I was doing, more or less so that we’d be on equal footing with you. Like, I knew, for a fact, like all humans do, you wouldn’t accept ‘Conductor’ as an actual name, now that I had given you a human name to work with. The Soloist has always pulled that sort of thing off better with other races.” Bora suddenly gains a look of true thoughtfulness, and adds, “You know, I really can’t remember the last time I ever got to explain this stuff while not also dealing with a crisis.”

Zubin has no idea how to take that.

o0o

“They’ve warned you, right?”

“About what, specifically?”

“That over 700 years of traveling around time and space, nobody’s ever gone on just _one_ trip. Without dying, I suppose.”

“...They certainly didn’t mention being over 700 years old.”

“And I didn’t bring up the dying bit because it was _one time_ , Soloist, and I’d really rather you not- mm. Just, take that to mean you’re more likely to go on a few trips with me than only one, alright?”

“At this point it’s really starting to sound like everything here is out of my hands, so yeah. Sure. More than one trip. And, you’re over 700 years old.”

“If it’s worth anything, I’m a century and a half older than them.”

“And xey never let me forget it.”

“Well. Great.”

o0o

“We both know we’re going to meet again.”

“Well, yeah. Even beyond the impacts meeting up immediately post-regeneration like this has, I don’t think a single force in the universe could keep us apart for long.”

“And on that note. When you have to introduce me to your companion or two- tell them my name’s Casey. Casey Summerfield.”

“Oh, that’s a good one. Will do.”

And people left. And no goodbyes were said.


	2. Rob's Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i never thought it'd come to this but.  
> this is a content warning: about 80% of the way through this story there's a paragraph that comes _close_ to but does not directly depict self-harm & associated harmful thoughts. i've made the section breakers (this thing -> o0o) that bookend that scene yellow, so if you don't wish to read that section (which isn't necessary if you want to keep up with the plot!) start scrolling at the first one & resume after the second.

Zubin’s really hoping Bora doesn’t think he’s dumber than he is, but this explanation of how the T&LDIS works did not be as drawn out as they made it. “she’s got psychic capabilities that have been in effect since you stepped foot inside,” “yes, the best way the Time lords could come up with to input the incredibly complex amount of information needed to travel anywhere in space _and_ time was through playing music,” “the instruments are made with special metals only found in areas with specific temporal qualities that make them tune themselves automatically,” “yes, I do know how to play all of these different instruments,” “no, I definitely don’t need help with this it’s totally cool for only one person to play even when there’s 6 spots around the console for different instruments.” Much of it Zubin feels he could’ve picked up on himself. Still, Bora seems passionate about having its first trip in the T&LDIS hit a certain set of beats, (“if you’ll pardon the pun,”) and it’ll be damned if it pretends that seeing Bora go all out on the accordion like that and physically _feeling_ the T&LDIS react to each note played wasn’t an admittedly life-changing experience.

“So when I open that door, I’m going to be stepping out into England 200 years before I was born? Like, the actual place that existed, with the colleges and industrial revolution and all that?” This is the first chance Zubin’s really had to face the absurdity of this situation he’s found himself in, hurtling through space and time with an accordion-playing alien who claims to have mysterious superhuman knowledge beyond his comprehension in the same breath they talk about the importance of naming your instruments. And, well, after all that, perhaps he deserves to question the validity of stepping out in a world (literally) straight from the history books, just a little, as a treat.

In lieu of an actual answer, Bora strides forward and takes Zubin’s hand with equal parts casualty and firmness, as if trying to act as a conductor for the passionate energy flowing through them. “Well, it’s not like we’ll be finding it out by just standing around here, will we?”

They open the door, and...

o0o

Well, 18th century England sure is English. There’s a sprawling manor with a fancy multi-story pantry, decadently decorated hallways, acres of verdant lawns, impractically designed rooms that absolutely would not fit modern regulations; the works. Actually, said works are somewhat inaccessible right now, as the aforementioned multi-story pantry happens to be where the T&LDIS has materialized, and even a smaller-on-the-outside van does not fit well in such a space. Bora and Zubin can get out, sure, and, with a bit of maneuvering, make it to the door to the outside, but explaining how they ended up in someone’s pantry, with (what appears to be) a 21st century van no less, will take a lot of work. Bora claims they have an all-purpose tool perfect for situations like this, but even with that Zubin is heavily doubting their ability to get out & about without some trouble.

“I still don’t believe you when you say you can’t just rematerialize the T&LDIS outside this pantry, or literally anywhere else that’s still in this general era, I’m not picky.” Zubin is quickly getting the impression it’ll be acting as Bora’s voice of reason for its stay with them; not an objectionable role per say, but still not one it’s not looking forward to handling on its own considering the literally inhuman level of impulsiveness Bora seems to have.

“I know her better than anyone else- trust me, all we’ve gotta do is sneak out through some window somewhere, make sure we remember where this building is, and we’ll be fine, no need to risk a relocation whatsoever.” Bora is still trying and failing to convince Zubin they don’t need any help piloting the T&LDIS, and, considering this is barely his first trip, he’s slightly worried about what that implies for his future as a traveling companion- not to mention the ease with which “climbing out of a window” is suggested as a solution.

“Fine, but if somebody sees us coming out and is accidentally the first person in history to know what a van looks like, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Oh, they definitely wouldn’t be the first person in history to-”

An extremely posh, highly offended, distinctly British voice cries out, “Who are you?”

Bora and Zubin, barely out of the closet, are shook, to say the least, by being noticed and accused so soon after arriving in this new place. “Uh, we’re nobodies, just, um, passing through, nobody whatsoever,” says Zubin, clearly the person best suited to talking their way out of this situation.

(Addendum: he’s not the person best suited to talking their way out of this situation.)

Understandably, the spiffily dressed man in front of them doesn’t buy it. “As the lord of this house I think I have the right to know how two ruffians found their way into my pantry without being noticed.”

Now Bora speaks up, very much not interested in having to explain what the T&LDIS is despite his earlier claims towards the ease of such a thing. “Oh, no, sir, trust me, we didn’t break in or anything, we’re just, uh, very sneaky, so if you’ll be so kind as to let us leave after returning what we’ve taken I think we’d greatly appreciate that.”

The man is not persuaded, and scoffs, even, at Bora’s claims. “You mean to tell me you snuck straight into my manor without being detected? Poppycock. I insist on you taking me into this pantry and showing me exactly how you broke in there, for otherwise I see no reason to offer you even a shred of mercy.” And with this chilling statement out of the way, he marches primly past the two travelers and flings the doors wide open, revealing shelf after shelf of preserved produce, spices drying on racks, canned & jarred goods galore- and a large, gently battered van, in the midst of it all.

o0o

He’s quite surprised by that, this lord; it’s written all over his face, similar to but not interchangeable with how Bora’s discomfort and Zubin’s worry has manifested itself across their bodies. A few snappy steps inside and the man’s got his hands all over the T&LDIS, inspecting it about as closely as one can without actually getting inside it, which Bora can tell he’s only not doing because he’s not sure how to (thank god). Bracing themself for the inevitable questioning, they step inside the pantry and motion for Zubin to join them, so as to at least not be caught by any other members of the house quite yet. “Well, now,” the man is saying, looking almost as if he enjoys scouring every nook & cranny on that vehicle.

 _Let me handle this_ , Bora mouths to Zubin, then speaks up, “Well, sir, I’m sure you’re curious about-”

“Quiet!” he exclaims. “If I want to hear something from you, I will ask you myself.” There’s a brief pause during which Zubin and Bora share a glance, as he straightens up back to his full height and stares down at them again. “Now,” he starts once more, somehow continuing to sound contemptuous while standing next to a dirty van in a cramped pantry, “I’m not a fool; I can recognize wheels when I see them. Am I correct in presuming this is some sort of vehicle? One that you two might even know how to use?”

Zubin, though more impressed than Bora by the lord’s deductions, keeps its posture straitlaced as they reply, “You are, actually.” They hesitate only a moment after giving this simple statement, clearly contemplating whether to give more detail or not, but it’s just enough of a pause for the stranger to leap back in with the inquisition.

“So. _If_ this is a vehicle that you two presumably manned, and if it is the means with which you slipped into my pantry, in the middle of the day, without being observed, _and_ if you managed as such without disturbing a single item on these shelves, _or_ damaging the walls or floors.... then I have no choice but to assume you managed that by fully materializing your craft specifically within this space, at once. Am I correct?”

Now it’s Bora’s turn to be utterly floored, still managing to keep a calmer disposition than Zubin despite the honestly uncomfortable accuracy of the stranger’s deductions. They nod briskly to start, but before they can even get out a further answer, the lord speaks up once more.

“Then if that is the case. I have two more questions for you.” Even with all the postulating, threatening, and general strictness he’s had on display, in the short time Zubin & Bora have known this man, this is the most serious he’s ever looked. It... almost seems as though some passion that had been nowhere near his previous actions is beginning to flare up, as he asks, “A vehicle with such an ability- it’s surely not something you simply, ah, purchased from anyone else. Then, is it something you came into possession through exclusively your own means? And, _if_ you can manifest it into this room with the ease you appear to have displayed, can it dematerialize just as easily?”

o0o

 _So we’re definitely not getting out of this one_ , is the thought that runs through Zubin’s head as Bora nods once more.

There’s an almost manic look in the man’s eyes. “Then- get it moving, and get me out of here.”

o0o

Getting everyone into the T&LDIS wasn’t the hard part- the stranger caught onto it being bigger-on-the-inside easily once the door was opened -the hard part is right now, facing the stranger himself, in his nigh-frenzied state. Zubin feels a lot more comfortable back in the T&LDIS, which isn’t to say it’s relaxed at all, just that it’s not an absolute mess of tension and nerves any more. The stranger, in contrast, is growing more and more antsy the longer it & Bora deliberate on the situation. Standing around the console, they’ve quietly worked out the conclusion that, here in the T&LDIS, the lord has no power over them whatsoever, meaning they don’t have a reason to do what he wants and take him away, but, they really don’t have any way to get him out either, forcing them to conclude-

“Is there a reason it is taking you so long to pilot this strange craft?” snaps the man, terse as ever.

“Well, look, sir,” starts Zubin, “I can tell- I’m not going to ask why you’re not interested in sticking around, but assuming you don’t steal anything or whatever, you might as well be free to stay here in the T&LDIS as long as you want. It’s just that we’ve barely been, er, here for 5 minutes, most of which was spent in a pantry, so if you’re willing to let us head back out and, um.”

The reason Zubin is paused is because he and Bora are now facing not only a smartly dressed & highly stressed aristocrat, but a smartly dressed & highly stressed aristocrat pointing a revolver directly at his friend. “No,” he says, through gritted teeth, “you’re not. You two are not going back out there, I’m not going back out there, you are going to leave this place and never come back, starting _right now_.”

o0o

Zubin inches a step towards the man. “Don’t,” hisses Bora, “you’re not the one with extra lives.”

“Yes, and you’re the one who can fly this thing better than anyone else here, so maybe you should get on that before this escalates any further,” is Zubin’s tense reply.

o0o

“You really don’t have to pull out a gun on us, sir,” says Bora, trying to make a display of remaining calm.

The man scoffs uneasily. “No. If you _can_ leave this place in an instant, you sh-must. You absolutely have to, this instant.” At this point, he seems very nearly at a breaking point, both Bora and Zubin noting this to be a very bad state for the one holding you hostage to be in. Ever the contrarian, Zubin takes another step forward.

Before anyone else can move, Bora kicks the console, there’s a brief blur, and suddenly there’s an electric guitar in their hands. “What are they doing?” cries the stranger, frantically swinging the aim of his weapon between them and Zubin.

“It’s just- that’s how they pilot the ship, that’s how you make it dematerialize, it’s not a weapon or anything, okay?” is Zubin’s hurried response. As if to prove his point, Bora starts working out a descending riff, which the T&LDIS responds to; symphonic & symbiotic, shifting slightly in space & time with every note, taking off in a rehearsed frenzy for the time vortex.

“S- so you’re leaving? Right now? Dematerializing?” shouts the stranger over the melodic din.

Zubin takes one more step nearer and closes his hands around the weapon in his hands. “Yeah. We’re gone. Completely.”

“We’re gone?” he repeats, during which Zubin takes the gun from his grasp with ease and gently tosses it onto the console. Clearly, he’s doing this in order to more fully deescalate the situation, but he also finds it easier to take in the fact that this man is no longer speaking with the slightest British accent when his back is turned to him.

Still holding the stranger’s hands, it turns back to face him. The T&LDIS no longer moving, quiet settling once more, it says, “Um, yes. That was Bora- oh, their name is Bora, and my name’s Zubin -that was Bora getting us into the time vortex, I believe. And, well, speaking of names, could we have yours?”

o0o

He’s in shock.

“My- my name?” he questions.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure this out.

“It’s, um. My name’s Rob. It’s Rob.”

It’s made rather obvious by the tears running down his face.

o0o

“Well. I think we’ve got some explaining to do here. I also think I’m the person here most capable of handling the start, so: Zubin and I were trying to take the T&LDIS- that’s the name of our ship here, by the way -out on a trip to 18th century England, which is a thing we should’ve been able to do because she can travel through time as well as space, that’s where the name, Time & Lyrical Dimensions In Space, comes from. The problem was, of course, we overshot our destination by a couple millenia, and ended up in 38th century England instead, where we ran into you.”

“Can I butt in here for a second? Yeah, I had no idea we were in 38th century England until literally the moment Bora brought it up right now. Your, well, the place we landed in looked a lot like what I imagine an 18th century manor would look like. The small amount of it we saw, at least. You can continue.”

“Oh, well, I only figured it out when Rob pulled out the gun on us- it’s of a pretty distinct 38th century make, no matter how it might be fashioned like an old flintlock- oh, but I’m getting off track. Where was I?”

“Actually, I think you’ve done about as much explaining as we can. I mean, we got into your place, met you, were really confused by how familiar you seemed with the concept of a non-horse-drawn vehicle, got you into the T&LDIS, and then, well, ended up here.”

A pause. A lull in the conversation, even.

“...Guess that means it’s my turn to share a story.”

“Yeah. Well, if you’re feeling up to it. Like, we could wait if you want.”

“There’s no such thing as ‘not enough time’ on the T&LDIS.”

“Uh. Sure. No, no, I’ll go, I can do this.”

o0o

There’s a tangible contrast between the stern, aristocratic, posh lord who had ordered Zubin and Bora around his manor and the quiet, awkward, clearly out-of-his-depth guy currently sitting beside & in front of them (respectively). “I’m- well- for starters, I think you should know that the world out there, well, like, in 3741, yknow, it’s kind of a hellscape. I think you might call it dystopian.” Rob says all this with an uncertain, tight smile on his face, somehow. 

It drops away with haste as he continues. “So like, there’s already a good reason for me to want out of there but, um, mainly, it’s because, I, w-was one of the people making it that way.” Stumbling over his words, it looks as though Rob’s never said a sentence with more crushing guilt behind it in his life. “I ran- I was the head of a business, a clockmaking business, and we like, employed, no, we kinda enslaved orphans in order to make the clocks, because their hands are small, and I like, had no control over that, b-because everyone’s like that, all the corporations, and everyone’s dying, and nobody can work, and there was nothing I could do about it without, like, dying, myself.”

There’s a couple moments of silence while Rob recollects himself somewhat. Tentatively, Zubin speaks up. “That... mostly sounds like what I already know the 18th century to be like, yknow.”

Rob’s tired, tired eyes smile numbly back at him.

o0o

God only knows where Bora gets the energy they have. “I get you guys are probably not very interested in going anywhere but your rooms-”

“We have rooms?”

“-but before you retire for the next however-many hours I have one thing I’d like to gift you. Earlier you may have noticed me scanning you with my sonic videocamera-”

“N-no, I didn’t.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s because they did it to you while you were crying. And me, I guess.”

“O-okay?”

“-I did this so that I’d get a good permanent record of your personal timeline, which is important for various reasons, but mainly so that I could give you _these_ ,” and at this they pull out of their pockets a pair of apparently mundane wristwatches and hand them over to their companions. “Now, I’m sure you’re thinking, Bora, these look like normal wristwatches, and there are clocks literally everywhere in the T&LDIS-” 

“There are?”

“-why would I need such a _boring_ piece of machinery on my person at all times? The answer is that you _don’t_ need to be wearing it all the time, I just made them portable because it’s easier that way. Also, they have a dozen different settings which all center around being synced up to the exact time of your home era, so that you can tell exactly how long it’s been since you left. You can probably figure them out on your own though. Now go ahead and take your leave! If you want.” Bora’s smile is practically as wide as their outstretched arms, which had not moved since placing the watches in Rob and Zubin’s hands for presumably the same reason their grin comes nowhere to reaching their eyes.

o0o

According to his watch (but mostly his circadian rhythm, as Bora repeatedly emphasized), Rob should be the first of them to turn in for the night (even though there was no night on the T&LDIS, Bora had emphasized even more strongly), so off he went to what was apparently now his room. Now it’s what Rob is going to call morning (despite Bora’s sure protests to come concerning use of that word) and he is off meandering down the halls, half deliberately losing himself in the endless, labyrinthine corridors and half looking for a bathroom somewhere. Eventually, after wandering past a hearty sampling of storage closets; at least one pig pen; somewhere containing an obscene number of phonographs; a racquetball court; what appears to be an empty attic with a meticulous stained glass window looking out into some indistinguishable landscape; a massive closet that (at a glance) seemed to contain outfits no reasonable humanoid could possibly fit into; somewhere that could only be described as a “tea room”; a plant nursery; a human (or, at least, sentient species) nursery; an art gallery; a room containing all the machinery needed for the creation and binding of books; and an alcove with nothing but an incomprehensibly tall ladder stretching into the unknowable depths above, Rob finds a bathroom.

o0o

Isn’t it stereotypical to only get around to deep introspection when staring oneself in the mirror? Regardless, that’s where Rob’s at right now. He sets out to shave himself, to symbolically part with the old world he lived in or something, finding some archaic manual razors to do the deed with; and with them in hand, is now considering...

o0o

He’s considering how, this being a time and space machine, he never has to return to his home (perhaps he should start putting that word in quotation marks now) ever again. He’s considering how utterly restrictive life was there, how his appearance couldn’t have the slightest irregularity or imperfection lest he be cast aside, practically left for dead. He’s thinking about how, with how strange this ship is, with how many places they seem like they’ll visit, he could wear whatever he likes without the slightest judgement on anyone’s part. He’s very deeply thinking about how he could get away with wearing only long sleeves for as long as he wants, and how now being so unrestricted allows him access to as free a judgement on himself as he wants, while he stares down this old-fashioned razor in his hand-

o0o

...when there’s a very sudden knock at the locked door. “Who is it?” he cries, sternly, _poshly_ , then chokes.

“Uh, it’s Joe. Joe Harkness? Who- no, what’s your name?” calls the unfamiliar voice on the other side of the door.

Rob clears his throat in a way that’d seem desperate if anyone were there to watch him do it. “Rob. Chaplet. Rob Chap-let.” He says this in his natural accent, much to his own relief.

“Cool. I don’t think I can say ‘nice to meet you’ until we’ve seen face to face though- could you open the door or should I?”

“Um.” Rob is still staring at himself in the mirror, though at this point he’s been doing it so long all his distinguishing features have been lost to absurdity. “Yeah, I’ll get the door.”

A thought occurs to him as he’s unlocking it. “Hang on, did you say, earlier, that you would, or, could open the door if I didn’t do it for you?”

The man in front of him looks everything like he didn’t expect, based on voice alone. “Yeah, I would’ve just picked the lock if you didn’t let me in.”

Rob takes a second to collect himself as Joe enters the bathroom, not expecting to have to deal with statements that utterly floor him in a fully different manner from yesterday’s. “Is- is it that hard to find a bathroom in here?”

Joe’s response is to stare directly at him, in silence, and blink. Twice. Slowly. Like a cat.

Eventually, he speaks up again. “I didn’t expect to meet anyone else this early in the day.”

“Um. Yeah, well, isn’t there no such thing as day on the, uh, T&LDIS?”

“Oh, I don’t stick to principles like that any more. A tad old fashioned for my tastes. Before my time.”

“Alright then.” This whole conversation- Rob would describe it as strange, but it’s not offputting enough to warrant that descriptor, in his eyes. Zie’s got a way of keeping Rob on his toes that’s utterly foreign to the pins and needles he’s taught himself to walk on; unsettling in a way that feels like it doesn’t warrant the level of distress it inflicts.

o0o

Rob doesn’t notice how strained the silence has become until Joe breaks it again. “Hey, buddy, you’re lookin' kinda tense there,” ze starts, a curious sort of gentleness in hir voice.

“Um, sure, yeah, what of it?” replies Rob, only barely starting to notice how on edge he is here.

Thon reaches across him and grabs a toothbrush & toothpaste. “So what I like to do when I’m good and stressed, yknow, not feeling so hot, contemplating the infinite or whatever, is I’ll take a good heaping of toothpaste, spread it all over the toothbrush, and _then_ ,” thon pauses for dramatic effect, still holding the toothbrush, loaded with an obscene amount of toothpaste on it, in the air, “I rub it all over my face as hard as possible. Sometimes the mirror, too, if I’m feeling up to cleaning it after.”

Astonishment is one word to describe Rob’s reaction to this elaborately absurd suggestion. Incredulous can also describe his tone of voice as he responds, “O-kay? And you’re saying I should do that, myself. Like _that_.”

“Absolutely. Glad you’ve caught on so fast. Do remember that when you’re ever feeling so taut again.” Words spoken, Rob perplexed, toothpaste unused; Joe’s job here is done, and they take their leave, passing the toothbrush off to their compatriot with such dexterity as to leave him unaware of its presence in his hands until they’ve shut the door on their way out.

Now Rob has a toothbrush in his hands, confusion of a comfortable sort in his bones, and... nothing truly better to do.

o0o

The others are up now, or at least, Zubin’s woken up, as Bora is claiming he doesn’t need to sleep every night, with his superior Time Lord biology and all. Rob meets back up with Zubin in the kitchen, disappointed in his inability to make any foods of a fragrant variety before the other could arrive. Bora joins them shortly, and together the three teach each other and try out the cooking appliances they know how to use, conveniently all located in this one hodgepodge of a kitchen. It’s a pleasant, peaceful time.

o0o

All three of them are wearing short sleeves.

Zubin’s wearing a wristwatch.

Rob isn’t.

**Author's Note:**

> just getting this out of the way, i changed everyone's last names just so i can vaguely claim these guys as ocs, and that in turn means i get to make their pronouns whatever i want. and being a nonbinary legend like i am i sure did make them all enby, so:  
> zubin shelley: he/it  
> andrew holloway: hy/shy/they  
> ross forrester: ey/em  
> rob chaplet: he/him (for now)  
> bora kingdom: they/them  
> casey summerfield: any  
> joe harkness: any that aren't he/she  
> i chose the specific last names i did mostly so that they'd sound similar to their irl counterparts but you could probably find symbolism in there if you tried hard enough. & i sure won't stop you.  
> (also yes! some of these characters haven't appeared yet! i can't promise they'll appear soon but they sure will eventually!)


End file.
